Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Questions Answered Lead to Others Asked

We’ve just spent three weeks taking a long detour through
the history of Maud Woodworth Bean’s paternal line upon the occasion of her
father’s passing in late May, 1928. At the time we had last discussed this, I had
wondered whether Maud and her husband Sam would be able to attend William C.
Woodworth’s funeral. The young couple lived in northern California,
while Maud’s home town was quite a distance away in southern California.

Besides, with unexpected bits of news mentioning her arrival
home from places as distant as Texas,
there was no telling where she and Sam might have been at the time of her
father’s passing.

Of course, another complication arose during that point in
this blog’s timeline. Not only could I not
find any further mention of Maud in newspapers, northern or southern, but I
couldn’t even locate any mention of her own last days.

What had become of Maud? Had she faded into oblivion in some distant, unnamed state?

There is a handy term used among stage musicians from an
older era (something I learned from my own father, who used to play such
popular New York City
spots as the Roxy). The phrase was, “Vamp ’til ready.”

While I worked my way through what has become an online
patchwork quilt of historic newspaper resources, trying to find more on Maud, I
decided to do just that: Vamp ’til ready. Not finding any further mention of
Maud in the resources at hand at that point, I decided to run with what I had:
a trail of resources covering Maud’s paternal line—all the way back, as we
subsequently found, to her patriot second great grandfather, Jabez Woodworth,
Senior.

At the same time, behind the scenes, I was tap dancing like crazy, desperately searching for some cue to prompt me on what became of Maud. To my great relief, I found a few missing pieces
of the quest to discover more about Sam and Maud. Not enough, granted, but a
sufficient set of documents to get me back on track with Sam and Maud’s story.

So, first, to answer my question from that post a couple
weeks ago: Did Maud get to attend her father’s funeral?

In a brief article on the sixth page of the Covina Argus on
June 1, 1928, entitled “Last Rites Held for W. C. Woodworth,” we see from the
long listing that Maud was not among those present at her father’s funeral.
While that is a sad thought to ponder, it invokes other questions, like “So,
where was she?”

And, since genealogy questions are like birds—those of a “feather” do
tend to “flock together”—this listing of those relatives present at the funeral
only provides me another set of questions to be answered. With the exception of
Maud’s Uncle Harvey and his wife Eva, plus the obvious misspelling of Maud’s
sister Nieva’s name and the barely legible newsprint at the point of a few
other names I’ve marked, I have no clue—yet!—who
these other people are.

Friends attending the funeral
service for W. C. Woodworth filled the large auditorium of the Methodist
church. The services were conducted by Rev. George Steed, with special songs by
Mrs. Baker of Los Angeles,
a blind singer. There was also present in the audience Rev. Burns of Los Angeles, also blind,
and an intimate friend of deceased.

Beautiful floral offerings covered
the casket and banked the rostrum, including a set piece from the Lions club.

Relatives attending from out of town
were a daughter, Mrs. Eva Searcy, and three children from Fresno, Mr. and Mrs.
A. E. Mattison, Mrs. Gladys Allee [?], Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Gethem [?] from Los
Angeles, Mrs. And Miss Cook of Hollywood, Mr. and Mrs. H. P. Woodworth, Pomona,
and Mrs. McKenzie and daughter, Mrs. McGrath, Long Beach.

Thanks for finding that, Iggy. Apparently, Gladys' parents were Arthur E. and Martha Mattison. Unfortunately, her marriage license, as shown on FamilySearch, doesn't include her mother's maiden name (just provides Mattison again), but it does show that they were from Sioux City, Iowa, which provides a clue. Incidently, Gladys was either married twice (this license was for her marriage to Charles Imlah) or the newspapers, once again, got it wrong.

So you're going to comb through this list of relatives at the funeral who are from Maud's paternal line, to see whether any of them are associated with, or maybe live near, Maude and Sam in 1928. I remember Maud's pregnancy and the speculation that she and Sam might have had a hard time earning a living. I don't remember the dates well enough to know whether their baby was very young in 1928. A very young baby and not much money might "take them off the map" of any social gathering for a while, even a funeral?

It's hard to think that financial restraints would have kept Maud away from being with her father in his last moments. But that is my thinking, given the life dynamics of our times. You bring up some good points, Mariann, in determining what might have been going on in Maud's life at this point. Actually, her youngest son was not quite two at the time--and there is no telling what type of medical expense the couple had to bear at the point of losing the other twin less than a year prior.

Good point, Far Side. I keep having to remember to put myself in a 1928 frame of mind when reviewing these circumstances.

I went back and checked: William died on Tuesday (could have been late at night, the newspaper didn't say) and the funeral was Saturday afternoon. In our times, it would take six to eight hours of solid driving on the Interstate to make the trip. Back then--assuming Maud received the word in time--perhaps it was do-able, but only if she had the money, and only if she could pack and leave home and young ones promptly.

I wonder if this type of scenario was what prompted elderly people to travel to visit all their relatives "to say goodbye" when they felt it was about time. Perhaps Maud had already been back home for such a visit before her father's passing.

About Me

It is my contention that, after a lifetime, one of the greatest needs people have is to be remembered. They want to know: have I made a difference?
I write because I can't keep for myself the gifts others have entrusted to me. Through what I've already been given--though not forgetting those to whom I must pass this along--from family I receive my heritage; through family I leave a legacy. With family I weave a tapestry. These are my strands.